


three centimetres of space

by Wye (qt_myung)



Category: GOT7, K-pop
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, First Love, Friendship, M/M, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-08-22 01:52:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8268232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qt_myung/pseuds/Wye
Summary: One day, whether you are 14, 28 or 65, you will stumble upon someone who will start a fire in you that cannot die. However, the saddest, most awful truth you will ever come to find – is that they are not always with whom we spend our lives.That person doesn’t have to be your first love. For me, he was, but for him, I wasn’t. It didn’t matter anyway, for we fell for each other at the wrong time. I guess you could almost say we never stood a chance. But that didn’t stop us from trying.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I stumbled across this quote that made me sit down and reflect. It didn’t take long for someone to come to mind; that person was the first thought that popped into my head. And being still and thinking made me recall the times I’d spent with that person, the memories I’d shared, and the warm stirring deep within my chest that I’d never felt when I was with anyone else.
> 
> I’ve written about this person previously, in a KaiSoo one-shot called [The Man Who Stopped Time](https://www.asianfanfics.com/story/view/576655/the-man-who-stopped-time-angst-romance-exo-kai-jongin-kyungsoo-kaisoo), set in a universe starting three years after this story ends. Then I had focused on the toxicity of the extent of my feelings I held and the destructive impact that person had on my being as a result of that. But this time round, the story would be about happiness. It’ll be about the love and the joy and the excitement and the imperfectly perfect moments I experienced with that person. There still won’t be a happy ending, but I’m happy with the ending – my ending. It’s bittersweet and melancholic and it reflects the rawest, most tender emotions I felt for that someone.
> 
> I hope you all will enjoy it and be able to relate :)

I sometimes wondered who fell first.

He’d been the one to approach me, two weeks into the new school year, offering to be my desk mate when the rest of the class made a beeline for their friends following the homeroom teacher’s announcement.

_“I’m giving you guys free reign for your seating arrangement. As long as you guys don’t talk during class, I don’t mind who you sit with.”_

It was a liberating sentence to majority of the class but a death sentence to me. Unlike them, who had already known each other from the previous years of being classmates with each other, I was new, having been transferred into this class at the start of the year. There wasn’t anyone I was particularly close with that I could ask to be seatmates with, and I could only watch on forlornly as everyone else busied themselves shuffling the furniture and their belongings around ad moving next to their new seat partners rowdily.

Without anything else to do, I too removed myself from my chair and stood to the side – the only movement I could participate in – feeling excluded from the rest of the action and resigned to my fate. Perhaps there was an even number of students in the class and I would eventually find an oddball to partner with. If not… _Well_ …

Well, I guess sitting by myself wouldn’t be too bad either.

As I was persuading myself it was then when Jackson came along like a knight in shiny armour, dragging around his own table and chair. “Here,” He’d said, reaching to the side for an abandoned set of furniture and pushing it towards me. He had an amicable smile and lively, twinkling eyes that bore no trace of malice. “Let’s sit together.” He suggested.

It was the first time we spoke.

If anyone were to ask me right then, I would’ve answered honestly that I hadn’t even known he was in my class until that very moment. Sure, I’d seen him around in school, found his face vaguely familiar and his name ringing a distant bell, but it never registered that Jackson Wang Jia Er, the social butterfly and class clown, sat in the same block, a mere two rows behind me. I guess it just never occurred to me that someone of such high profile, someone so _unattainable_ , could be so distantly related to me, a muggle by all standards.

In my defense, despite his infamy he’d always been relatively quiet during lessons, never drawing unnecessary attention to himself unless he was posing questions – on extremely rare, once-in-a-blue-moon kind of occasions – where even then I never bothered to look over my shoulder to identify the owner of the charming tenor voice currently offering me a proposition.

Jackson’s arm was still extended after passing the table to me, his hand now turned with his palm facing diagonal. Head cocked to the side I stared hard for a good two seconds, wondering just what his intentions were, until a glaring thought jolted me out of my stupor and I hastily grasped his hand, returning the firm handshake he’d proffered. “H–Hi, I’m, uhm, Mark. Mark Tuan.”

He laughed, bright and pitchy and carefree, revealing a set of pearly white, perfectly lined teeth when he threw his head back. He was nothing more than three centimetres shorter, but to me he never looked bigger. He was so confident, so at ease and in his own skin, like he goes up to strangers and befriends them on a daily basis. His hand was large and warm and firm, and I felt my palm grow moist against his own as my flaws became amplified just being in his presence.

“I know, Mark, Mark Tuan.” He finally let go of my hand, but I felt like my entire self was still seized in awe. Why hadn’t anyone ever told me that meeting Jackson Wang would be such a religious experience? I was a convert. “I’m Jackson, Jackson Wang. It’s nice to meet you.”

Like a furiously blowing hurricane that abruptly swept into my life and turned it upside down, that semester, we became friends and ended up sitting at the back of the classroom together.

 

~~~

 

Jackson had a way with words and people, a magnetic pull about himself that made you gravitate to him and that vague charm in his personality that kept you enraptured. And people did, like moths drawn to a flame. It was evident by the way he seemed to know everyone in school, not just those in our year but those above and below and outside of the school’s track and field club I knew he was a member of.

It was evident by the way I too, like a sailor mesmerised by a breathtaking siren’s bewitching calls, became enthralled by Jackson’s presence and the warm shelter he provided under the safety of his wing.

He offered me to sit with him and his inner circle – Jae Bum, Jin Young, Young Jae, Bam Bam and Yugyeom – during lunch so that I wouldn’t have to sit alone. He offered me his assignment to copy off when I realised I left my work at home on the day of submission. He offered his phone number for me to text in case of emergencies, homework help, or if I’m simply in need of someone. He offered his hand to pull me up when all everyone else ever did was knock me down and leave me on the ground.

I thought I was a tough nut to crack, but it turns out he held the key to my Pandora’s Box all along. I was a recluse, an introvert with few I call acquaintances and fewer I can call friends, but it had been so easy to reveal myself to him; with his soft, non-judgemental gazes, lopsided smiles and quiet nodding to my words, I found myself unravelling my deepest secrets to him like I have never done to anyone else. I found my existence acknowledged.

There were days when I felt like an unwanted parasite, sticking to Jackson relentlessly as though hoping his popularity would rub off me. Certainly some others definitely did, as false rumours and sharp-tongued slanders about the gold digger in _Jackson_ _’s exclusive clique_ began spreading with the increasing time I spent with him and his friends.

“Mark, don’t listen to them,” Jackson would instruct me fiercely whenever I heard another vile whisper along the corridor. He could always tell when I did, when I shrank in on myself with my hunched shoulders and adamant refusal to meet his gaze. And he’d pull me to the deserted stairwell and, tilting my face up with a tender finger tucked under my chin, brush the wetness that I couldn’t help let fall from my eyes. “Those imbeciles are not worth your anger, even more so your precious tears.”

Through his eyes, I began to see myself in a different light. I began to see my dignity and self-worth. I drowned out the voices in my head and around me that told me otherwise and held on only to the opinions that mattered. Through his eyes, I began to see that despite my gangly, scrawny form, non-athletic nature and naturally awkward gait, I was beautiful.

When I was really awkward, really insecure and really, really lonely, Jackson had been the first to offer friendship. He was the only one who didn’t make me feel out of place within those vast white prison walls, and he was the only one who tried to get me involved instead of treating me like a wallflower to be ignored. In return, I’d been the first to offer my heart. I’d offered my heart the day he spoke to me with the monosyllabic non-greeting and a lazy, lopsided smile.

 

~~~

 

We’d spend our entire erasers wearing down random spots on our desks just so we would have enough ammunition to begin and sustain a _war of eraser dust_ while the Geography teacher yapped on about meandering rivers and coastal processes up ahead in front of the whiteboard. Jackson would snicker like the hormonal teenage boy that he is and elbow me in the side every single time _groynes_ get mentioned, and I would shove him back hard enough for him to create a ruckus each time he nearly fell off his seat.

English class was spent with Jackson reading novels under the desk and me discreetly trying to steal peeks without making it look like I was staring at his crotch like it was the most fascinating thing in the world, while Math was spent with me snickering at his feeble attempt to wrap his mind around complex trigonometric formulas, my own work finished ahead of time like the number-crunching geek that I was.

And despite being seated three centimetres apart we’d text each other on our mobile phones instead of passing notes like what conventional seatmates would do. (I guess we weren’t that normal after all.) It always starts with an “I’m bored” on Jackson’s part, evolving to me entertaining his random whims and discussing what to have for lunch. I’d roll my eyes when he replies something stupid and nudge him in his side, rough enough for him to squeak and funny enough for me to start giggling at his expense, and it almost always ends with whichever subject tutor berating us to cut our nonsense out.

On Mondays we would stay back in school after classes have ended. After grabbing a quick lunch from the convenience store across the road we’d return to the classroom and sit at our desks in the semi darkness, sometimes talking about what we saw on the television the night before and other times not talking at all as we shared a copy of our compulsory Literature reading material between us. Sometimes I’d coach him on his Math assignments and he’d help me out with my English compositions, and other times we’d both slave away quietly over Geography essays. Whoever was done first will wonder around the classroom listlessly poking at various objects or take a nap on the teacher’s desk while waiting for the other to finish.

When it was my turn I’d perch myself on the frame of grill-less window and jokingly threaten to jump if he didn’t hurry up because death by suicide would be faster and more painless than watching him struggle with the Pythagoras’ Theorem. There was a ledge on the other side of the window and we both knew I wouldn’t actually do it, but Jackson always finished his work in record time anyway.

It was so silly, but we were so young and so naively hopeful in a cynical world.

We remained until feedback on our rowdy distractedness prompted the homeroom teacher to separate us again, and that September we ended the first chapter of our lives after finally meeting each other.

 

~~~

 

Being the ‘it’ kid, he was always in high demand, and he functioned as though he was on a schedule.

At first I couldn’t comprehend the way he ticked. Greedy for more of his attention I would come up with ways to catch his focus, all but none of those tricks ever worked. It made me upset. Was I not his seatmate, the one he spent the most time with within school walls? Was I not special to him? I didn’t like feeling like the unfavoured child. There were even days where I resented him, reproached him for the pit of sour jealousy that broiled in my gut which stemmed from my own insecurities.

But soon I learned that his brain, his attention and his time are compartmentalised and organised to the most minute of portions and it is as though he assigned a certain time in the day, a certain length of time, to each person and wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ entertain you outside of your allocated time. Now I had become so used to sharing him with everyone, so used to the way he ticked that I never bother myself with to trying to gain more of his attention anymore. I would have my time with him – and as haughtily arrogantly as I dare declare, more than the others.

Even after we were forcefully separated, we still sat close enough – next to each other across opposite aisles –that our bond didn’t break. If anything, it only grew stronger after realising each other’s irreplaceable importance. But now, it was dashed with a hint of desperation. Every single moment we were able to together was precious.

It almost wasn’t until near the end of our first year together that we discovered that our homes were within close proximity. And even saying that was a gross understatement; we stayed a mere two-stop bus ride away from each other. Talk about coincidence. (Though I’d like to call it fate.)

Bus service 113 became our new haven, our new secret garden spot that only the two of us shared. The very back row of as our spot, exclusively ours to have, and it felt like even the rest of the commuters knew that. The last row of the bus would always be empty when we boarded the bus; we’ll squeeze into the left corner, school bags haphazardly tossed on the floor between our legs and an iPod and a pair of earphones shared between us.

“This song is _so_ good,” Jackson would gush, and I’d agree, leaning over his shoulder to take a glance at the song title on the screen of his ratty iPod Nano. The three centimetres of space kept our bare arms from touching, but each time the sleeves of our uniform shirts would brush it was electrifying.

I both dreaded yet yearned for the tingles that went down my spine each time it happened.

As our time transitioned from sitting together and fooling around in class to the short ten-minute bus rides to and fro our homes, so did the nature of our friendship. What was once a bond formed in class transcended the boundaries of school and we begin to reach out to each other more outside, exchanging text messages to each other every night and chatting online whenever we could.

(Ah, MSN. Those really were the days, weren’t they?)

I never questioned the attraction I felt towards him. After all, Jackson had always been a people person, a smooth talker overflowing with charisma, and I chalked my feelings up to be a case of simple infatuation, of admiration towards someone better in all aspects of life than I am.

But then it happened on one casual, unsuspecting day, when we were about to head home after class when I finally realised, with startling clarity, just how deeply I’d fallen in love with Jackson. Our usual route out of school took us along the stretch of the cafeteria, and as we were strolling by he’d been spotted by one of his juniors from the track and field club and had his name called out, stopping us in our tracks. He turned to look at me expectantly, and after a nonchalant shrug and a jerk of my chin Jackson skipped over to strike up a conversation.

“Your boyfriend?” The younger boy asked cheekily. It made me look up from where I was loitering half a step behind, tapping disinterestedly at my phone, only to realise it was me being gestured to. I took a step closer to Jackson, whether it’d been out of reassurance or a display of challenge, I still don’t know. “Going home with him?”

Everyone who knew Jackson knew of our daily routine and this guy was no exception. He knew who I am. He didn’t know who I was to Jackson, and was trying to take this opportunity to wheedle some information.

(Ironic thing was, I didn’t know who I was to Jackson either.)

My throat ran dry. Somehow, I found myself anticipating what his answer would be and I took another step closer, this time out of pure curiosity.

Jackson let out his high-pitched hyena-like cackle before shaking his head, waving his hand about to emphasise his point. “No, please, he left already.”

Ah, _right_ , Bam Bam, of course. I didn’t know what I was fathoming, expecting his answer to be different.

Jackson glanced over his shoulder at me, as though for confirmation. The second our gazes made contact I see the child-like delight shining in his bright eyes and we both erupt into giggles knowing who he was referring to.

Bam Bam was one of the few I hadn’t interacted with as much as the others despite being in the same clique for the past two years. I played the role of a silent observer, the _third party_ , as their relationship evolved from something pure into a synergetic one weaved with emotional complications. They hadn’t been close from the start, but somehow over time they’d eased into some form of boyfriend role-playing, Bam Bam’s natural clinginess and submissiveness fitting perfectly with alpha Jackson who loved skinship.

They were so tangled together, both physically and emotionally, that sometimes it was difficult to discern if they were even platonic anymore. It was like watching a train wreck happen before your eyes that you were completely hapless to prevent, but all a flicker of wild imagination in the depths of my overactive mind.

Speaking of which…

“Yah,” I chided warningly and smacked him on the arm, reminding him the line to be drawn between friends and mere acquaintances. Never had the taboo pseudo-relationship ever been expressed verbally and I wasn’t about to let the beans be spilled to this _stranger_ , someone who wasn’t in our inner circle. Not when Jackson hadn’t even divulged the whole story to _me_ yet.

 “Ouch!” Jackson hissed and shimmied out of my reach with a wounded look on his face. “What was that for?”

I rolled my eyes at his exaggerated display. I’d usually find his childish antics cute, but right now I was plain irritated. “I’m hungry.” I stated flatly. That was the truth. “Are we going to get bubble tea or not?”

There was a bubble tea shop on the second floor of the heartland shopping mall situated smack between our houses that we were frequent patrons of. I’d get _boring_ old honey milk tea while Jackson, being ever the sweet tooth, would get pudding milk tea with extra jelly toppings. The thought of getting bubble tea only heightened my craving. I couldn’t wait to get my bubble tea.

I couldn’t wait to get out of here.

“Alright, princess, alright,” Jackson huffed as though he was placating a small child, but he looped his arm through mine and tugged me in the direction of the school gates. “Let’s go now, _boyfriend_.”

The sharp twinge in my chest hadn’t gone unnoticed nor did the sinking feeling in my gut, a fantasical condition I had only read about and thought only existed in literature.

Oh how hard the revelation hit.

 

~~~

 

Jackson had a way of making everyone feel special; thoughts, words, actions, gifts, little things that he did to show that he cared.

He’d think of me during lunch when I’m stuck having supplementary lessons and get me my favourite snacks so that I won’t have to go for the next class hungry. I’d wake up at god awful hours just to catch the bus to school with him on days his parents were overseas so that we could spend that minute bit more time together. We’d stay up late into the wee hours of the night because we didn’t want to be the first one to cave in and fall asleep. No, we’d desperately fight the lull of fatigue and refuse to say goodnight until the other did first, which often ended up with both of us dozing off with our handphones clutched tightly in our palms, calls still connected.

Those were the days where my heart felt so full I thought it was going to explode from my chest cavity. I was so, so happy that I was terrified that this happiness was only temporary, that everything could be taken away from me at any moment. I lived in trepidation.

And on those days I tried drawing away from him, I really did. But with every step I took backwards Jackson would advance one step forward. He would chase me to the ends of the earth he wanted to; he was stubbornly determined that way, and it was what hopelessly attracted me to him in the first place. Now it’d turned into a double-edged sword that I couldn’t escape from. I could only succumb to the temptation of remaining by his side.

Jackson was a passionate lover. When he loved he gives and gives, his love igniting a flame hotter than the warmest of sunrays that burns through you from inside out. He would throw himself in front of a car if he needed to and travel to the ends of the earth for you, yet he wasn’t to keep for the long run. He’s wild and free-spirited, he’s that person who would give you the most unforgettable night of your life but never stayed till breakfast the next morning.

Like a fleeting dream on a sweltering summer night, he was there and gone again. You couldn’t count on him to be there. Nothing could ever tie him down. I wasn’t the first one to try, and I certainly wouldn’t be the last. That was what made us both so tragically alike – We couldn’t stay long enough to commit to each other.

I was afraid to commit, and Jackson simply didn’t.

I could tell from the tips of his fingers that lingered and trailed along my skin that his touch was far from innocent. The tender gazes that we held and refused to look away from each other’s amber irises (mainly Jackson’s, really; mine were just a plain hazelnut brown, unlike his which were speckled gold, like fairy dust) until the other yielded and blinked first, those held far more meaning than the childish staring matches everyone else assumed we were engaged in.

It wasn’t that simple. Nothing was. There was so much more than what met the eye, tucked away behind hooded eyes and guarded looks, feelings broiling underneath our heated skin like a storm brewing beneath the surface of a calm, open ocean.

We didn’t dare speak of feelings, for talking about them turned them into reality. It made things real and we didn’t want real, we just wanted to remain in our own little fantasy wonderland of make-beliefs, white lies and half-truths. In this world, we could be together without repercussion.

In the blink of an eye, four years have passed since we stepped foot into junior high, gullibly bright-eyed and naïve freshman, and it’s been two full years since Jackson Wang whirlwinded into and set up permanent residency in my heart, mind and life.

The path up ahead was dark and a journey into the unknown. We had no idea where we would end up after graduating and how drastically things would change from this point and the uncertainty made us deathly afraid despite knowing full well that we must face it anyhow.

All good things must come to an end.

On the last day of school I headed back to our classroom, where it all began. Now occupied by the class a year our junior, the flimsy decorations had been taken down and replaced with something that was uniquely theirs. The furniture had been rearranged into neat rows of four packed into three columns. I guess their form teacher wasn’t as lax about seating arrangement as ours had been.

What a waste, a lost opportunity for the students to get to understand their peers and classmates on a deeper and far more intimate manner like how I’d grown to know Jackson. It seems they’ll never be able to experience the level of intimacy we shared. _That_ was a real shame.

I climbed out of the window and balanced myself precariously on the ledge, the same way I always threatened Jackson with whenever he took too long to complete his Math assignments. It was how Jackson eventually found me, while aimlessly wandering along the deserted corridors, and had freaked out for two whole seconds before hopping through the window with an agility I could only hope to possess and settling down beside me. I shuffled to the side for him but he wouldn’t have it, sliding right into the space I’d just vacated and pressing our sides together.

He was warm.

Jackson stretched out his legs and dangled them over the narrow ledge, swinging them about playfully. My heart lurched, deathly worried, even though I was doing the same. “What are you doing?” I demanded, voice gruffer than I intended. “It’s dangerous.”

“Can’t let you die by yourself, can I?” Jackson answered cheekily. “Got to be as morbidly romantic as Jack and Rose and sacrifice my life too or some shit.”

 _Why did he have to make it sound so god damn sentimental?_ I could only huff in response to hide my reddening cheeks. “Don’t be stupid,” I chided, “What makes you think I would die?”

“You wouldn’t,” Jackson says fiercely, “Because even if you were to lose your balance I’ll jump after you and grab you and I’ll make sure I hit the ground first.”

I couldn’t see him clearly from how close we were sitting and so I drew myself back, leaning my weight on my elbows. From this angle I was finally able to look at him, properly, and consider him seriously unlike all the other times were I’d stared at his handsome face just for the sake of it.

It dawned on me how much he’d changed. Jackson had lost considerable weight the past two years; his once rounder face had become sleek and his jawline chiselled, cheekbones more prominent without the layer of baby fat filling his cheeks. His skin was a tanner, more attractive shade of olive from his track and field trainings, a far cry from the near pasty complexion when we first met. His laugh lines are deeper, and more studs now adorned the cartilage of his ears. But his beautiful eyes still sparkled the same and shone with the same breath-giving light that captivated me two years ago.

And I’d changed too. I walked with my shoulders wide and chin up. I was more outspoken than before. Like a blooming flower bathed in love and sunshine, I’d basked in the warmth of Jackson and glowed.

“Do you ever regret meeting me?” I had to ask him _now_ , knowing that I’ll always hold this regret deep in my heart if I don’t voice it out. “If given the chance to turn back time, would you have not chosen to sit beside me?”

“I chose you. I chose you and everything that comes with you.” Jackson answered quietly, solemnly. “And no matter how many times I’m faced with that decision, I’ll always choose you.”

 “Jackson…” I choked up, everything I’ve ever wanted to say remaining stuck in my throat but he still understood like he always does.

 _It’s okay_ , his earnest eyes told me. _We’ll be okay._

I sometimes wondered who fell first. Did it really matter? No, not anymore. Did I ask just to satisfy my curiosity? Not really either. But knowing would help me sleep at night, when I lie staring up at the blank ceiling in the confines of my room dead into the night, listening to the faint sounds of the clock as the seconds ticked by as my mind remained wide awake, fantasising the limitless possibilities of what we could’ve been, if we had been brave, if we weren’t so young, if we weren’t in the circumstances we were in, if we weren’t the way we were. All the _what if_ ’s, futilely.

But with Jackson, I had learned the meaning of what it is like to truly love someone. Within that three centimetres of space between us, I’d learned to love selflessly, _selfishly_ , and to love passionately with every fibre of my meaning. I’d learned that love will always be enough; to build, to destroy, to overcome impossible odds, to be together, and to let go when the right time comes.

_Thank you for gifting me this memory of us to last this lifetime._

 


End file.
